


In Parallel

by BoxWineConfessions



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: M/M, Male Solo, Masturbation, One sided Otabek/Yuri, Otabek jerks it thinking about Yuri in the past and in the present, first time awkward masturbating
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-21
Updated: 2017-09-21
Packaged: 2019-01-03 21:31:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,588
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12155211
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BoxWineConfessions/pseuds/BoxWineConfessions
Summary: Otabek reaches for something, anything to clean up with. He finds a discarded sock among the rest of his clothing, and hastily wipes his skin. Although Yuri can be petulant at times, it’s nothing in comparison to what Yuri does to Otabek. Otabek ceases to be the third place medalist at Worlds in 2016. He ceases to be the gold medalist at this year’s NHK. Instead, he’s reduced to being a child all over again.





	In Parallel

**Author's Note:**

  * For [voslen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/voslen/gifts).



At training camp, Otabek bunks with a fifteen year old boy from Poland. His accent is thick, and when he speaks nothing much interesting comes out. He talks about his girlfriend. He shows Otabek photos on his cellphone of a girl with long sandy pigtails. Otabek doesn’t much care for him. He’s loud, and he chews with his mouth open. His alarm goes off three or four times before he finally shuts it off for good.

Otabek has trouble sleeping here. Just knowing that this isn’t home means he’s always on edge. People are constantly moving about, and each jostled movement of his bunk mate pulls him from whatever elusive sleep that he can get.

Tonight is no different. Otabek is pulled awake by the creaking of the wooden frame, and the strange sound of skin slapping against skin. Although he isn’t completely sure what it is that his bunk mate is doing, he can assume that it’s private and shameful.

* * *

Otabek tries not to indulge himself too often. He avoids these kinds of pleasures, not because he believes that there is something wrong with them from a moral or spiritual standpoint, but because he lives a life of strict discipline. He wakes promptly at 5:30, he goes running, then resistance training, then classes, and then he has rink time. He simply does not have the time.

If he bends to these desires, what comes next? A slice of cake after dinner? A candy colored cocktail at a club? A meaningless fling with a boy that is not Yuri Plisetsky?

Otabek tries not to indulge himself too often, but there are times when it is quite difficult.

* * *

Otabek meets a boy at training camp. He has fine blonde hair that looks softer and smoother than silk. He has large green eyes that he wants to stare into for forever. His eyes feel like they tear right into him, grab his heart, squeeze tightly, and don’t let go.  It is as if this boy had seen something grand and disturbing, and was forever marked by it.

Otabek saw something like that once when he was very young. He wants to tell everyone he passes by what it is that he saw, but he doesn’t know how to string the words together into a coherent sentence. Mother has the same kind of look in her eyes. So does his tutor, who _allegedly_ worked on the coup attempt in Moscow long before he was born. However, this boy is special. He’s never seen another person that wasn’t an adult with that look in their eyes.

Looking at him made his chest feel tight. Being near him in practice today made him feel hot.

He’s not a dancer by any means, but whenever he was around Otabek stumbled through moves that should have been simple.

In time, Otabek learns his name. Yakov screams at the top of his lungs, “Yuri Plisetsky, I’m shoving you into a cardboard box and shipping you back to whatever dilapidated Khrushchyovka you fell out of!”

Otabek does everything that Yakov instructs down to the last detail, even when his body burns in protest. He’s here to learn. He’s here to get better. Yuri Plisetsky on the other hand does what he pleases. He moves jumps in the routine, he omits parts of step sequences in order to add in another combination.

Otabek wants to tell him that it’s the coolest thing he’s ever seen, when he does a triple axel off the back counter like it’s nothing at all. Instead, the words dry up in his mouth. Yuri reaches around him, smashes the buttons on the vending machine, and inhales a diet soda like he doesn’t even exist.

* * *

 

It’s difficult tonight to not indulge himself. Yuri held onto him on the back of the bike and squeezed him so tight whenever he purposefully went too fast. Otabek wondered if the rush, the adrenaline, and the closeness of their bodies made Yuri hard the same way that it made him hard.

Otabek has spent the entire season admiring the pearlescent white agape costume from television. In person, it’s even more striking. It’s tight around Yuri in all of the right places. Otabek longed to watch his dark hands dig into the soft flesh of Yuri’s ass when it was covered in that shimmering pure white fabric.  

 Yuri’s free skate program made him look like he was burning up. Otabek had spent all afternoon thinking about what it would be like to braid Yuri’s hair. What it would be like to grab the roots of his hair by the base of the braid and tug that long blonde mane.

Yuri wore his pullover, and now it smelled like him. It’s a juvenile mixture of sweat and designer cologne often upsold at perfume counters due to name recognition alone.  

Otabek balls the garment up into his fists, falls back onto the bed, and breathes in deeply. His mind’s eye conjures the image of Yuri discarding his bright pink jacket. He focuses on the image of the cut off t-shirt riding high. Then, he undoes his belt buckle.

* * *

 

They had to do pair stretches at warm up today, and he got paired up with Yuri Plisetsky of all people. When it was his turn to stretch Yuri, his palms dripped with sweat. His entire body felt tight, but it was especially intense between his legs.

It made it so difficult to stay on task. Yuri lay on the floor with his hair fanned out around his face. One arm was tucked underneath his head. “What’s with you asshole?” 

“So-sorry,” Otabek leaned too far into Yuri, and brushed up against his outstretched thighs.

Otabek didn’t let Yuri stretch him. Instead, he asked to go to the infirmary. It wasn’t dishonest. He really didn’t feel well.

Eight hours later, he still can’t stop thinking about it.

Otabek prays that his bunkmate is asleep. He prays that he doesn’t start doing it at the same time. That would be the worst. Otabek screws his eyes shut. Otabek bites his lip so hard that he sees white on the insides of his closed eyelids. Otabek shoves is hands down his pants and acts purely on instinct.

Otabek suddenly has more sympathy for his bunk mate. If he felt like this every day, then of course he’d do it every night. He wouldn’t care who heard either, and….He wasn’t going to feel this way every night was he?

* * *

 

Otabek doesn’t indulge himself very often, and so when he does he likes to be an experience. He rubs himself from root to tip as fast and as hard as he wants to go. Then, he pulls back. He rubs the tip of his cock lightly. He spreads the precum around on the head of his cock. Then, he pulls away entirely and watches his cock twitch in the absence of any touch at all.

He repeats this process several times, but never quite allows himself to come undone. Each time he allows himself to think of Yuri in all the ways that he’s spent years trying to avoid.

Yuri on his knees with his face covered in his cum.

Yuri on his back with his thighs pushed tightly together. The soft skin of his sac peeks out from between and drives Otabek wild.

Yuri snarling at him while he bounces on his cock.

* * *

 

Otabek imagines that instead of touching himself, he’s touching Yuri’s legs again. They’re so muscular, and they’re so powerful.

Otabek rolls over, and shoves his pillow underneath his hips. He imagines that he’s rubbing up against Yuri’s warm, sweat damped skin instead of a pillow.

Otabek’s chest feels tighter, like he’s run several miles; Otabek’s chest feels tight, as if he’s going to die. Yet, he cannot stop himself from touching himself. He cannot stop himself from desperately humping into the pillow between his legs. It’s delicious, and it’s awful, and he knows that the whole bunkbed frame rattles whenever he moves, but he just can’t help himself.

On New Year’s, his family pull the string on paper confetti poppers. They detonate with a sharp _crack_. When he comes, it feels like _that._ Except everything feels wet, sweaty, and shameful.

* * *

 

Otabek settles into the idea of Yuri on all fours with his ass in the air. He thinks about licking him open until he’s wet and sloppy. He thinks about pushing into him slowly, and then pounding in after Yuri has had just enough of him to become addicted.

It’s a damn good image.  Otabek decides as he twists his hand around the head of his cock that’s the way he’s going to do it. Otabek’s toes curl as he thrusts up into his hand. Otabek’s back arches off of the bed as he thinks about it.  He’s going to ask Yuri for a kiss, and then he’s going to ask for the world.

Otabek cums in short powerful spurts. It gets all over his hands, his stomach, the pristine white hotel duvet.

Otabek reaches for something, anything to clean up with. He finds a discarded sock among the rest of his clothing, and hastily wipes his skin. Otabek finds it strange. Although Yuri can be petulant at times, it’s nothing in comparison to what Yuri does to Otabek. Otabek ceases to be the third place medalist at Worlds in 2016. He ceases to be the gold medalist at this year’s NHK. Instead, he’s reduced to being a child all over again.

 


End file.
